


The Space Between

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Holiday Exchange, Clothes Porn, Cultural Differences, M/M, Satinalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between knots and sketches, a love comes together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for toddnyallison on tumblr! I hope you all enjoy.

“Teach me how to do the knots.”

Bull looked up from where he was working on a report for Cullen, monocle firmly in place. “What?”

Dorian stood in the doorway to his room, shifting uncomfortably back and forth. He was carrying a heavy bundle of bright red rope, just thin enough to be used for decoration instead of more athletic endeavors. Bull removed the monocle, and Dorian stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“What's this about?” Bull asked as Dorian set the rope on the bed.

“Well.” Dorian took a deep, slow breath. “I was talking with Adaar.”

“And?”

“And she told me about the knots meaning different things. I thought- I thought it might be nice to learn what they meant, and know how to make them.” He ran his fingers over the rope, not looking at Bull. “I know they're not just for armor, Bull. You put me in some of the same decorative harnesses as I've seen when Adaar wears the Antaam-saar. I want to know how to do them too.”

Bull leaned back in his chair, considering Dorian for a moment. “This is kind of strange,” he admitted. “We've been tiptoeing around this for a while now, this whole culture clash thing.”

“I know.” Dorian glanced up, giving him a faint smile. “We should do better, don't you think? They're so much history between us, and yet so little we talk about. I want to learn more about you. I want to understand, and learn, and this- this is important. Will you teach me?”

“Yeah,” Bull said quietly. “Yeah.”

oOo

Dorian first learned the beginnings of the art of bondage from a rather pornographic piece of anti-Qunari propaganda, a fact that he was never, ever going to tell Bull. There was some rather dramatic detailing on the ropes, and as the others giggled, someone (he could never remember who) tentatively piped up that the rope cuffs looked like they could actually be done. That had shut everybody up, and a week later no less than fourteen boys ranging from fifteen to eighteen crowded into a classroom at the Circle he was currently at, and figured out how to make the elaborate rope cuffs shown.

An actual cheer went up when Dorian held up the wrists of the boy he was working on triumphantly, and by the time he left that particular Circle, he was extremely accomplished at tying people up with his own designs.

For aesthetic reasons alone, of course. 

He'd missed it, when he went South. He'd been missing it before then, honestly, because regardless of the who, the how, or the why, he liked the work that was put into the artistic displays that rope could provide. He hadn't had a chance to work with it in at least the past three years. Before that there had been entire salons he'd attended with men and women suspended from the ceiling in little else than rope. (The South needed to learn how to party. Val Royeaux was getting there, but _honestly_.)

But here he was with his hands on it again, Bull in comfortably loose pants watching him as he did up the elaborate tortoiseshell pattern along his arm.

“Okay, pause there,” Bull said as he tied off one of the knots to hold the whole thing in place. “This pattern means-” he paused, humming as he thought of how to translate it across. Dorian waited patiently.

“Vigilance,” Bull said, dragging the word out as his eye narrowed, considering. “No, that's not quite right. Awareness of the people around you and the fact that you should protect them.”

“Is there are solitary word for that?” Dorian asked, fixing the shape in his memory.

Bull shrugged one massive shoulder. “Sort of. It's like the word for shield, _beres-taar_ , but with a word to show you're talking about a person behind it.”

“I see.” Dorian ran his fingers over the knots, feeling rather pleased with himself. “All right. More.”

oOo

The Iron Bull was not an artist, but Hissrad had spent a good many years on Seheron drawing maps and sketches of people of interest. He kept in the practice, using charcoal from around the fire to carefully draw portraits of the Chargers, of horses in motion, of the trees they passed with funny faces, or of some of the landmarks they'd seen. Herah was particularly fond of his rendering of the giant arch over the Forbidden Oasis, and actually had the little sketch hanging on her wall to look at from time to time.

Dorian was a true pleasure to draw. The arch of his nose, the smooth curve of lips and mustache, the sweetness of his face in the early morning, it was all enjoyable. There were plenty of sketches of Dorian around the room, including one rather lewd one that Dorian always squawked indignantly over but never made him get rid of.

It was a pleasant afternoon when he came to the room that was quickly becoming _theirs_ instead of _his_ and found Dorian at little ladies writing desk that had been shoved into the corner. 

Some of the rubble had been replaced into the wall, and he raised an eyebrow at Dorian, who glared right back. 

“If I must spend time here, I shall spend it without having to look at so much mess.”

The whole place had been straightened up, and Bull smiled when he saw that there was now a trunk at the foot of the bed (which was now square with the wall), and a rather large homemade rug in cheerful pink and yellow beside the bed where he usually swung his feet out in the morning.

“Where'd you find the rug?” He asked, sitting down to pull his boots off.

“I made it.”

Bull paused, looking up in surprise. Dorian was refusing to look at him, focused very intently on whatever he was doing at his little desk. “Excuse me?”

“I made it.” Dorian huffed, setting down his pen and turning to him. “It's a very simple loom pattern, Bull, you could do it just as easily.”

“I really don't think I could. Explain?”

Dorian rolled his eyes, but obliged. “You take scraps of fabric and stitch them so that they're all tight and long, skinny strips, and then you make a loom. It's just a rectangular frame with pegs on the ends, and then you weave it back and for and tighten it ever so often. They're a common busy work project for people with extra material, or for little boys who aggravate their nanny and therefore must be forced to do something that could be considered physical labor without being taxing.”

Bull chuckled. “So you've made a lot of these.”

“Shut up.” Dorian turned back to his work, smiling a little. “But yes, I have. Consider it a birthday gift, since we have no idea when yours is.”

Bull stood, walking over to kiss the top of his head. “Thank you, Dorian,” he said fondly, and Dorian grumbled, swatting at him with a smile on his face.

He was about to sit back down when he saw what Dorian was working on and whistled.

“What's this?”

“Oh,” Dorian said, going delightfully red in the face. “A pointless hobby. I was forced to take art classes as a child, and never really stopped drawing. I'm not all that good.”

Dorian was sketching, and sketching Bull, at that. He wouldn't have recognized himself without the eye patch and horns to give him away, honestly, as the charcoal version of himself was dressed to the nines in Tevinter court garb with a Qunari twist. He was shirtless, but wore a draping sleeveless overcoat in rich black, certainly trimmed with gold. The pants were about the same but with a note to be in rich red, and the boots were quite tall. They were intricately designed in a sketch off to the side, knee high with twisting serpents framing the warhammer the Chargers used for their company flag. He hummed his approval as he looked at the horn caps Dorian had designed, with thin chains dripping down and little strips of metal attached to jingle against each other. 

“I look like a high class courtesan,” he said, impressed. “I've seen the jingle-y strips before, on those fancy head pieces they wear.”

“Not just courtesans wear them!” Dorian said indignantly. “I have a set.”

Bull grinned, kissing his temple. “I'm teasing you.” He gently lifted the page to get a closer look after a questioning look at Dorian, and whistled again. “This is beautiful.”

“Yes, you are.”

Startled, he looked down at Dorian, who was flushed even darker and glaring at him.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “That was fucking smooth.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

oOo

Bull had spent quite some time with Fisher's Bleeders before forming his own company, and it was on his third job with them that he got his hands on black Imperial silk. It was rare stuff, bound to be headed to the Archon or Black Divine, and they'd been tasked with retrieving it from bandits. It would mean the heads of the merchants if they arrived in Minrathous without it, and Bull had been the one to carry it back to camp.

It was impossibly soft and slick, like water against skin, and that was what he was reminded of when he watched Dorian dress for the day.

“That sketch you did,” he said as he folded up a paper for Cullen. “Can I have it?”

Dorian looked at him quizzically as he did up his buckles. “Certainly, but why?”

“Just liked it,” Bull said, lying through his teeth, and as soon as Dorian was gone and he had the sketch in hand, he made his way to Vivienne's balcony.

“Silk?” She asked as she looked the sketch over. “Certainly, it can be made to work, I know some fabulous tailors. But darling, this will be no cheap piece of work.”

“I know,” he said with a shrug. “But it'll be worth it.”

oOo

Bull was sketching when Dorian got back late one evening about a week later.

“The day I've had,” Dorian muttered petulantly. A chest of drawers had been added to the room, and more of the blocks had been replaced. Dorian knew Bull was only humoring him, but he was happy to see the place more in order. “I ask you, is it so difficult to get a single copy of a book that is literally the best selling piece of fiction in the Imperium? You can't walk into a bookstore without running into bloody stands of the thing.”

“What book is it?”

“The Crown of the Gods. It's actually written by one of my mother's cousin's children. Also named Aquinea, though not for her. Aquinea Naldothea? Something like that. I thought I'd get it and share it with you, I think you'd like it. There are quite a lot of dragons in it.” He dropped onto the bed, wrestling with his boots. “Blast this freezing place and the inability to just wear house shoes like the rest of civilized society.”

“We don't wear shoes inside at all,” Bull said absently, not looking up from his work. “It's rude. And it gets mud and dirt everywhere.”

“I have to agree with you there.” He flopped down, shoes now thrown across the room. “Ugh. Blast that nonsense. Let us return to proper society, with its warm weather and spices.”

“Hear hear,” Bull said wryly. “Your place or mine, big guy?”

Dorian snorted. “Which one's less likely to get us killed?”

Bull chuckled, leaning in to do some detailing on his sketch, and Dorian eyed him.

“What are you working on?”

“Another sketch of you. Might do Krem later, too. Never can get his cheekbones right.”

“He's got cheekbones like razor blades,” Dorian agreed. “Quite impressive.”

Unable to resist, he rolled back off the bed and walked over. 

“I see turn about is fair play,” he managed after a moment of staring.

Bull chuckled, handing the piece up to him.

Dorian had seen the _saarebas_ before. Mostly from a distance, granted, but he had seen them. He knew the armor well. The heavy collar, the terrifying mask, the soft clink of chains, and heavy leathers set with rings flapping like gruesome wings in the night had stuck with him since the first time he'd spotted one during a raid on Qarinus. The shock of white hair and sheer size of the collar had unnerved him early. He'd expected that if Bull ever sketched him in Qunari styled armor he would go for that, dark as it was.

But it seemed he'd assumed wrong.

He ignored the Qunlat in the corner, looking over the work. It was the same loose pants and boots combination from the antaam-saar, but with elaborate knotwork over the boots. The shirt was a full vest, with more cording over it, and his arms were so intricate it took him a moment to place all the words. “Fury”, was the first he saw. It was followed by “dangerous”, “powerful”, “keep this one safe”- a prayer to the Qunari goddess-, and “true shot”. He looked closer at the one on his wrists, frowning when he couldn't place it. The boots were “steady”, intertwined with “speed”. 

“What's the one on my wrists?” He asked, and Bull hesitated.

“One I haven't showed you yet.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I'm aware of that, thank you. If you don't want tell me it's just fine.”

Bull relaxed, sighing. “Thank you. One day I will. Not today, though.”

Dorian leaned down, mimicking Bull from a week previous, and kissed his cheek. “You make me look as powerful as you make me feel,” he whispered, and Bull sighed softly, reaching up to pull him into a slightly hungry kiss.

oOo

Satinalia approached with the kind of aggression that Dorian normally associated with All Souls in Tevinter. The South considered Satinalia to be serious business, and they weren't about to let a little thing like the end of the world stand in their way. Josephine bustled about like she was riding the high of anxiety all day long, the dragon's head in the Great Hall got a crown of pine boughs, and Cullen set to making the soldier's gear presentable with the kind of grim determination that told Dorian all he needed to know about the holiday season. It was to be incredibly stressful, and he was not excited.

At all.

Not excited whatsoever.

He reminded himself of that fact as he adjusted the rather jaunty cap that Varric had found for him. There was a pine sprig attached, and it was really quite warm. It was also violently red, and had a matching cloak in a much softer red trimmed in some sort of dark fur, thankfully more tasteful than Cullen's. They were _gifts_.

He'd always been a terribly sentimental magpie, and knew full well if Sera gave him a box of rocks he would lug them all the way back to Tevinter and display them on his mantle. Solas had loudly declaimed his disinterest in the season, only to start sneakily leaving everyone small paintings of the whole group in a decidedly familial shot. Bull and Dorian both pretended they hadn't gotten very emotional about them, and had a good long drink with Sera and Blackwall about it. The others seemed to be waiting for the day itself to give gifts. Varric claimed he just wanted to get his out of the way before the season descended on them full blast.

He was reflecting on the thought of gifts when he jolted upright, horror causing the hat to fall off.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. Helisma paused, glancing around as if to check for it, and floated away again.

Bull. He was going to have to get Bull a gift.

What on Earth could he get Bull? The man was impossible to shop for. Dorian was completely certain that if he gave Bull a dirty sock he'd be grateful and find a way to use it. Unselfish bastard.

Dawnstone was always a good bet. Anything pink was a good bet, honestly. A nice rose wine? Maybe he should just paint himself pink.

Oh.

Hmm.

Dorian scrambled out of his chair, shoved his hat firmly back on his head, and took the stairs out two at a time.

oOo

Satinalia was less wild in Skyhold than it was in, say, Antiva, but it was still a good time. The party was raucous, the alcohol flowed freely, and everyone was having a lovely time.

Sera giggled when she saw Dorian, only to break into full blown guffawing. Dorian rolled his eyes, holding up his hands. 

“All right, all right, get a good look,” he drawled, and she laughed again. When she'd had her fill, she flicked the tears out of her eyes. Dagna was perched on the work bench, beaming as Dorian turned around to show off his holiday gear. He'd been stuck in the Undercroft for most of the day, while Bull had been under strict instructions to stay out until the dinner party.

“C'mon, he's waiting,” Sera said with another giggle, and Dorian headed for the door as she blew a teasing kiss at Dagna, who went bright pink.

They pushed open the door and descended into the sea of people. It seemed like the whole of the Inquisition was there, snacking and laughing and drinking. Orlesian nobles were mingling with soldiers, and at least one lady looked like she was about to evacuate the party with three other people to impersonate rabbits in a closet. Dorian followed Sera through the crowd, acknowledging the wolf whistles with a flippy salute as he did. They made their way up to Vivienne's balcony, and Cassandra choked on her wine as he stepped through the doorway.

“Great, innit?” Sera said gleefully as Cassandra began to grin.

“Oh, yes.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, spreading his arms again and turning so she could get the full effect.

He was dressed in Bull's design, done up all in pink. The ropes had been specially dyed, as had the pants, and the metal ring at the back of the antaam-saar pants had been exchanged for a dawnstone bangle that Dorian was going to keep for personal wearing. It would make a lovely armband. The boots had been the trickiest part of the ensemble, but they were painted and encrusted with little pieces of dawnstone as well. His jewelry had been switched out for gold and dawnstone drops, with one thing gold chain connecting his nose ring and one earring. The chain had tiny, shimmering pieces as well.

He was quite the picture.

“Beautiful, I will admit,” Cassandra said, then had to swallow a laugh. “And so pink.”

“Yes, yes, happy Satinalia to you too.” He headed up the stairs, passing a pink cheeked and giggly Cullen, and was about to great Vivienne when he saw Bull.

He stood out on the balcony, face tipped up to the sky, and the others made way as Dorian took a few slow steps forward.

He'd had the same idea, clearly, for as he tipped his head further back the golden bands and slim gold strips on the chains connecting them gleamed and jingled. His suit was just the same as Dorian had designed, but with even more details. On his back, carefully picked out in golden thread to match the trim of the coat, was the Pavus crest meshed with the Charger's warhammer. It brushed just past his knees, and golden rope had been tied to his arms to look like armbands.

The same golden rope was around his wrists, in the knots that Dorian didn't know the meaning of, and had managed to figure out only through lots of trial and error.

He stepped forward until he was outside, and Bull turned.

He was backlit by the last of the sun, and Dorian caught his breath, taking in the brilliant red of his pants, the custom boots, the tall collar of the overcoat, and couldn't help reaching out to touch his chest.

Silk.

Bull was wearing _silk_.

“You,” he breathed, overwhelmed. It was a little reassuring that Bull seemed to feel the same way, eyes wide as he looked him over. “Oh, _Bull_.”

“Forget me, look at you,” Bull said hoarsely. “Damn.”

“Happy Satinalia?” Dorian said helplessly, and Bull reached over to push the door shut as the others all laughed. 

“ _Kadan_ ,” Bull said abruptly, and Dorian blinked.

“Pardon?”

Bull took his hand, motioning to the matched knots around the wrists. “This is _kadan._ ”

Dorian's heart was starting to pound. “What does it mean?”

Bull let out a breathy laugh, reaching out with his free hand to cup Dorian's cheek. “Literally, it means the center of the chest. But what it really means is-” His voice broke, and Dorian stepped in closer. 

“Bull?”

Bull cleared his throat. “It means “my heart”. That's what it means.”

Dorian's eyes widened.

“Oh,” he said faintly. Bull looked like he was about to bolt when he let go of his hand.

“Dorian-”

“Hush.”

Dorian pulled one of his off. They were incredibly simple, two ropes looped together, using the other to form a knot that looked almost like an infinity symbol. Two whole bands, tied together. He grabbed Bull's wrist, pulling one of his off, and retied the pink on on Bull's wrist. Bull sucked in a shaky breath, and took the gold to tie it to Dorian's wrist.

He could tell that inside the others had gone quiet, but Dorian didn't care.

“Bull, do you know what?”

“What?” Bull's smile was brighter than the sun, blinding in its happiness.

“You're never taking that off.”

There was a great deal of cheering from inside as he dragged Bull down for a kiss, the gold of his horn bands chiming sweetly.

“I'm never giving you up, _kadan_ ,” Bull murmured against his lips.

“As if you could get rid of me,” Dorian said, and added with a massive smile, “ _Amatus_.”

And together they walked back inside, hand in hand.


End file.
